The D Journal

So, it was suggested by a certain famous fossil fighter to keep a journal of my day-to-day encounters while working as a physician here on Cranial Isle. I’m not sure why they thought it was a good idea, but I got so bored, I guess it’s not so bad of an idea. Maybe some explorer will find this lying around in the wreckage after this place finally gets drowned in volcanic ash.

I shouldn’t say that. I love working here, actually. Not because the money I’m getting is ridiculous, but it’s actually kind of fun, if not a little scary. I get to see so many up and coming Diggers on their way to the top of whatever it is they dig up all those Vivosaurs for. Seeing all that fire in their eyes is kind of invigorating, in a way. I can’t recall exactly what Joe said when he set me up here. I think they fight with them in tournaments, or something? Maybe I should attend one those things sometime. I never really got into all that stuff, but I know those things pack a mean punch. Or a slap, in Nurse’s case.

Oh yeah, Nurse. She’s my right hand…reptile. I forget who it was that names these things, but Nurse is a Pacro Vivosaur. “Nurse” fits her as a nickname and all, since she can do as much healing as I can, except probably a little more effectively on her own kind. For a reanimated fossil, she has one heck of a personality, though. Can’t even begin to count the amount of care and emotion she seems to put into working here with me. I swear I see her heart break a little every time someone walks in with an injury, but she always lights back up when a patient is released back into the heat. I get a kick out of teasing the poor girl all the time though, along with a few unfortunate slap marks on my cheeks. Most sensitive female I’ve met, no doubt.

Mom and dad are the same. Blah blah, what are you doing in some volcano, blah blah, where’s that girlfriend you said you would have, blah blah blah. It’ll come, darn it. Jeez, mom.

Anyway, this journal is supposed to be about patients, not about me, so I plan to keep the whining and ranting to a minimum. I put that off on my patients instead, hah. Unfortunately, last patient I had was plagued not by broken limbs or missing eyes, but the common cold. But you have my word, dear diary; you’ll know when someone neat pops in for a visit. Patient confidentiality need not apply—this is a personal record for personal things. I won’t put down names or anything, but if they were to read what I write…well, they’d figure out who it was about. Maybe that person is you right now, and you’re either snooping while I’m taking a bathroom break, or you found this while digging for fossils six hundred years from now, or maybe you’re just me. Hopefully, just me.